


in your bones

by sarcasm_and_sabres



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: 2016 MLB Season, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:57:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasm_and_sabres/pseuds/sarcasm_and_sabres
Summary: The thing is, Kyle'd never wanted to use magic. He knows he's in the minority but he wants to prove himself by playing baseball and making it on his own merit, not selling away his humanity to the magic thrumming through every team.





	in your bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onakissgodknows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onakissgodknows/gifts).



> Thanks to E and B for their help and support in this!
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Nothing too drastic that needs to be warned for, but detailed warnings in the end notes.

There are days when Kyle really regrets being traded to the Cubs.

He doesn’t regret the success he’s starting to have here, nor his teammates. And Chicago’s a great city, if a little too cold for his California tastes. 

But when he looks at Jake’s shaggy fur and Rizzo’s claws, he really wishes he’d stayed with the Rangers, a team that doesn’t wear its magic so visibly.

\---

Kyle’s never been one for magic. Even in college, when most of his teammates’ eyes were tinted green and their blood came out emerald instead of scarlet, he’d resisted the magic trying to reach out to him. 

It had been easier to hide, back then. He’d been good enough that his teammates had assumed he tapped into the magic and that it was just less visible on him. He had awfully dark eyes, after all. Hard to see a green tint in that. And Kyle was always careful, so it wasn’t like he was bleeding constantly around his teammates.

And when he’d been drafted by the Rangers, Kyle had been relieved. They had no visible characteristics marking those who used the team’s magic and those who didn’t. He’d hate to be a Yankee, with their flat black eyes and the faint pinstripe pattern on their hands. Really hard to hide not having that. And it’s the Yankees, so Kyle’s pretty sure he would’ve been forced into using their magic anyways. Team unity, or whatever. No long hair, no long beards, and oh yeah, you have to turn your soul over to the team’s magic.

When he found out he’d been traded to the Cubs, he’d been somewhat relieved. At least it wasn’t the Cardinals, with their visibly red hair and the red beaks that came out when they were actively using the team’s magic. And nobody on the Cubs then had displayed any characteristics of bears. 

Which was maybe more because the team sucked when Kyle was traded there than anything else. Because now they’re actually good again, and Jake will far too frequently shift fully into a bear and stalk around the clubhouse as if it’s normal to have baseball turn you into a wild animal.

And even some of the new guys do it too. Bryant’s only been here one season and when he smiles without thinking about it, his teeth aren’t quite right.

Whatever. Kyle’s not going to lose himself to Chicago’s magic. Theo had assured him it was entirely optional when he’d asked, and Kyle’s going to stick to it. He doesn’t use magic. He never has, and he never will. He’s just going to go out and pitch.

\---

When Dex walks onto the field at spring training, brilliant smile in place and bear claws flashing when he waves at them, Kyle can feel the magic spike.

“Dex!” Rizz shouts, abandoning their conversation and running across the field to hug him. “You’re back! I thought you’d signed with the Orioles!”

Dex slings an arm around Rizzo’s shoulders and steers him back over to the group. “Couldn’t leave my boys, now could I?”

“Fuck yeah,” Rizzo agrees, smile nearly as bright as Dex’s. “2016 World Champs, calling it right now. Dexy’s gonna bring us all the way.”

“This sounds like a great way to be distracted and to forget the actual, you know, work that we have to do,” Rossy grouses dramatically, but he’s smiling too as he claps Dex on the back. “It’s good to have you back, man. Somebody’s gotta keep Rizzo’s ass in check.”

“Ain’t that Jonny’s job?” Schwarbs asks, flashing a hint of bear teeth when he smiles. “Anyways, Rossy, we don’t gotta worry about doing our work, you feel that magic when Dex walked over?”

“Even in Arizona,” Rizz agrees. It seems like he’s about to continue the conversation about magic, so Kyle takes that as his cue to leave. He gives a cheery wave to the group, ignoring the look he gets from Jon as he heads over to find the pitching coach.

Unfortunately, it seems like Lackey had had the same idea, and Kyle hasn’t yet gotten over the fear that races down his spine when he sees the hulking mismatch of too many different types of magic that is the veteran pitcher.

“Kyle!” he hears from over his shoulder, and he pivots gratefully to see Miggy calling him. The catcher is one of the only other Cubs who doesn’t use magic, as far as Kyle knows, and even though his reason is simply that Chicago’s magic is too different than other teams he’s known, it’s nice to have someone else. Miggy’s never once pushed Kyle to explain why be doesn’t use magic and doesn’t nag him to “go on, just try it once, just to see what it feels like!” Kyle knows what it feels like, thank you very much. He has no desire to do so again.

\---

Kyle’s always been great at baseball. He made it to the majors, after all, and he’s a part of the starting rotation of the hottest team in baseball. His fastball might be barely considered fast by others’ standards and he might not use magic to improve it, but he’s been effective. He’d proved himself after being called up in 2014 and he knows he was a big part of the team’s surprising success in 2015, but this year everything seems to be clicking. 

Not just with him, too. The team’s absolutely on fire and everyone is talking about how this is their year, this is when they’re finally going to overcome the curse.

And Kyle tries to pay as little attention as possible to the magic, but he feels like maybe it could happen. The magic has been more noticeable this season, even to him.

Every time he steps into Wrigley Field, he’s greeted by a rush of magic that briefly wraps around him in some soulless facsimile of a hug before it retreats. It seems to be impacting everyone more than usual, too.

Even Schwarbs and Zo are starting to look like they’ve been in Chicago for years instead of barely any time at all. Gone is the gold line that had encircled Ben’s head while he’d been a Royal, replaced instead by a tendency to have furry bear arms when he hugs or high fives teammates.

Normally, it takes a few months of a season at least for the characteristics of your former team’s magic to fade, and another season before you start showing the new signs. J-Hey, however, has no trace of red whatsoever in his hair. When Kyle asks him about it, though, Jason just gives him a tight smile.

“St. Louis’s magic and I didn’t exactly mesh well,” he says, and when he slaps Kyle on the back, Kyle can feel the sting of bear claws ripping open his shirt and pressing against his bare skin.

He knows Jason would never intentionally hurt him, but he steers well clear of the outfielder the next couple of days.

\---

Kyle’s personal feelings aside, there’s nothing like watching Jake when he’s on. The more locked in he gets, the more he loses himself to the magic around them, and the less human he seems. When he’d been on the crazy streak that had resulted in his Cy Young, there had been days that he hadn’t said a single word to anyone but his catcher during the game, just communicating in grunts and growls the rest of the time. 

Kyle hates that, if he’s being honest. Language is one of the things that sets humans apart, why give that up so you can maybe be a little better at baseball? It’ll never be worth it, in his opinion. Not to mention that there are precisely zero studies or scientific evidence that shows that magic really improves someone’s baseball skill. In Kyle’s opinion, it’s simply a thing because baseball players of the past did it, so others thought if the guys in the majors did it, it would get them to the majors. He’s known way too many shitty baseball players who used magic to buy into that theory, and he doesn’t get why he seems to be the only one.

It’s probably just a confidence and comfort thing for most guys by the time they hit the majors, though. If they got used to doing magic whenever they played, stopping would likely mess with them as much as messing with any other major part of their routine. 

Kyle’s got enough confidence in himself to not need that, thank you very much, but he can’t argue with the results coming from a guy like Jake.

Across the dugout, he hears the pitching coach’s voice and a few grunts in response from Jake. He doubts they really need to have a conversation about Jake’s pitching considering how Jake’s been recently and that they’re playing the Reds, but it must be frustrating to be trying to do your job as a coach and to get a response only in the form of grunts and growls.

Regardless, Jake goes back out to the mound for the top of the fourth and gets through the inning without a hit, which means that he’s definitely not going to be talking now. During his no-hitter in LA, he’d glared at everyone who came anywhere near him with those black eyes, and now that Kyle thinks about it, the feeling in the magic then had felt awfully similar to how it does now.

Kyle’s not sure if the magic bubbling through the dugout at a greater intensity than usual is in response to Jake’s performance or is causing Jake’s performance—personally, he thinks it’s the former, Jake’s damn good with or without magic—but it’s a nice feeling to settle in and know they’re going to win. And to watch Jake’s slider absolutely baffle the Reds.

Kyle’s completely unsurprised when Jake finishes off the no-hitter, but rushes onto the field anyways to congratulate him and celebrate with the team. Cubs fans seem to have continued their habit of traveling well, as there’s loud cheering from the crowd when Jake shifts, tears back on his hind legs, and roars. The fans feed the magic and the magic feeds the fans, he supposes.

\---

Kyle leans against the railing to take in the game, nodding at Zo as Bryant steps in the box. He should really spend more time with his fellow pitchers, he thinks, but Jon still bears all the terrifying traits of the Red Sox and John looks like somebody just threw magical characteristics at him until he was hardly human anymore. Jake’s embraced Chicago’s magic to the point where he’ll growl more than speak on game days. Really, Kyle only feels comfortable talking to Jason, as he’s completely magically blank, but he doesn’t like to chat during his starts. So position players it is.

Bryant takes a walk, and on the mound, Martinez emits a few low, angry whistles, and Kyle can’t resist his flinch.

“Alright there?” Ben asks, gaze snapping from the field to hone in on Kyle.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s alright.” Ben pats him on the arm gently. “Makes sense that it wouldn’t be your favorite sound, probably grates on your magic, huh?”

“It doesn’t,” Kyle says flatly. Apparently Ben hasn’t gotten the memo that he doesn’t use magic. And he knows, in the logical part of his brain that’s usually in control, that it makes sense he wouldn’t. It’s early May, Ben’s on a new team, and Kyle doesn’t exactly go around shouting anything about his magic—or lack thereof—one way or the other.

Ben opens his mouth to say something, a slight frown creasing his features, but Kyle gives him a tight smile and walks over to where Miggy and Rossy are sitting. His catchers are good at letting him be a headcase in peace.

\---

The day after a frustrating loss against the Padres, Kyle walks into the weight room to find Schwarbs already going through a series of exercises with one of the physical therapists. He doesn’t have time to exchange more than a nod with him in greeting since Buss is waiting for Kyle by the treadmill, but it’s nice to have someone working out with him.

He plugs in his earphones, booting up the treadmill and starting a slow jog, working himself up to a nice run to flush out the previous day’s work. It’s not until he’s finished his run and has moved into some of the other cardio exercises that he notices Schwarber’s frustration from the other side of the room. Amy is trying to talk him down, but judging from the growls audible even over Kyle’s music, it’s not being particularly effective.

Kyle pulls out his earbuds and makes to go over there, but Buss waves him off and goes himself.

“C’mon, Schwarbs,” Kyle hears him say. “It’s okay, don’t flip out.”

“I don’t want—" Schwarbs says, the rest of the sentence lost to a throaty growl. Kyle can’t help his shudder, and suddenly the beady black eyes are locked on him as Schwarbs starts to shift.

“You don’t want to do that.” Kyle’s surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth, but apparently not as surprised as Schwarbs, who freezes with just a layer of dark brown fur covering his skin, teeth bared and claws outstretched towards Kyle. He forces himself to take a breath, to treat this like a game where he’s trying to get the opposing batter to back down. “You know changing’s a bad idea when recovering. Do you really want to set yourself back like that?”

Schwarbs growls again, furiously, but he shakes himself and the fur disappears and his eyes are back to being a human brown. He takes a step forward and he looks like he’s going to say something, but Kyle flees before anyone can move further, abandoning his phone and water bottle on the floor and nearly running until he gets to the field.

He’s joined a few minutes later by Buss, who’s carrying his water, phone, and a few exercise bands.

“It’s a nice day, why don’t we finish off your workout here,” he suggests mildly, and Kyle’s all too happy to agree.

\---

Kyle’s never been more thankful for a road trip than he is on the one four days later, when they leave Schwarbs behind in Chicago. He’d successfully avoided Schwarbs since the incident in the weight room, the image of those wild, furious, inhuman eyes forever implanted in his mind. He knows people who use magic lose their tempers sometimes, same as everybody else. But he forgets that the young guys often have a lot less control over their magic when they get angry than veterans like Jon or Rossy do. He’s never been scared of either of them. But Schwarber... Better that Kyle just stays away from him for a little while.

Apparently he’s the only one of them who thinks so, however, because he gets back to the locker room after the first game of the road trip—a stupid, frustrating loss where Kyle really should have been better—to find a long voicemail waiting for him.

“Coming out tonight?” Hammel asks, slinging an arm around Kyle’s shoulders. Kyle manages a faint smile and shakes his head, muttering something about being tired. He has a feeling he’ll need some time to himself to deal with whatever Schwarber’s said to him.

“Try not to kill yourself of being boring, okay?” Jason says, ruffling Kyle’s hair before he can smack Jason’s hands away.

“I’ll do my best,” Kyle says dryly. He shakes his head in fond amusement at his teammate’s antics, grabbing his sweatshirt out of his locker and making his way out of the park. It’s not a bad walk back to the hotel they’re staying at, and it’s probably not his worst idea to clear his head a bit before getting back.

\---

Kyle still feels completely unprepared to hear whatever Schwarber wanted to say by the time he gets back to his room, but it’s not like waiting is going to make it any easier. Might as well get it over with instead of sweating about it for longer and building it up to be a bigger deal in his head. He changes into sweatpants and an old t-shirt, flops onto his bed, and pulls up the voicemail.

“Hey, Kyle,” Schwarber’s voice says, a little hesitant. “I know you’re in the middle of a game, I didn’t want to force you to talk to me. I wanted to—to say sorry and thank you. I talked to the team doc and he said I could’ve seriously set back my recovery time if I’d shifted any further than I did. Almost definitely would’ve, actually. So thank you. And I’m really sorry. I’ve never lost control like that before and I like to think that I’d never hurt someone with my magic, but I guess—yeah. I’m working it, I’m trying to get it under control so that can never happen again. Apparently we’ve got a magical consultant for the team? I’m working with him, and with Zo, and some former players in the front office, and I’m gonna be better and keep this controlled, I promise.”

Schwarber takes a deep breath over the line, and Kyle closes his eyes and mirrors it, taking a moment while Schwarber is silent to find his center. He’s fine, this is fine.

“Anyways, I get it if you don’t wanna be around me anymore. If you don’t respond to this call and don’t talk to me when you get back, I’ll just leave you alone for as long as you want. Please don’t…I don’t know, feel obligated I guess? Don’t feel obligated, uh, to do anything for my sake. You don’t gotta try to be polite to me or anything, I know I fucked up.”

There’s another pause from Schwarbs, and there’s a note of finality when he speaks again. “So I just…I’m really sorry. I don’t know why you don’t use magic, um, obviously I don’t, but I’m guessing I didn’t exactly help the matter. So. I’m sorry. I hope maybe we can be good again. Um. Yeah.”

The message ends with a harsh breath, and Kyle lowers his phone slowly. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting—maybe somewhere deep in his heart he’d been expecting to get blamed for the situation—but the message was—nice. It doesn’t necessarily fix anything and Kyle doesn’t think he’ll be able to relax around Schwarbs for a little while, but it could be worse. It could always be worse.

It doesn’t seem fair to leave Schwarbs hanging for a week and a half until they get back from the road trip, so Kyle reluctantly thumbs open the messages app and pulls up Schwarbs’ contact. After a moment of debate, he carefully types out “maybe not now but we’ll be good again.” It’s enough for now.

\---

Lester’s making his start against the Phillies the day before Kyle’s when they’re back at home, and Kyle settles himself against the railing to watch their hitters. Next to Schwarber.

Schwarbs glances over at him once, then does a double take.

“What, never seen an average looking white guy before?” Kyle asks lightly, drumming his fingers on the railing and trying not to betray how hard his heart is pounding. Absolutely nothing is going to happen. Even if Schwarber flips out again, which he is not going to, there’s a couple dozen other people, most with magic, around to calm things down.

“Ready for your start tomorrow?” Schwarbs asks eventually, still looking taken aback.

“Of course. Gotta one up Jon, don’t I?”

“You pitchers, man,” Schwarbs says with a smile, moving a hand and looking like he’s about to pat Kyle on the back but stopping short of actually touching Kyle.

“Hey, at least we don’t have to play every day like you position players,” Kyle shoots back. They both fall silent when everyone finishes warming up and the game starts, but it’s a slightly more companionable silence than Kyle would’ve expected.

\---

The team goes on another hot streak, and as more and more bear characteristics pop up from his teammates, Kyle spends more and more time finding unoccupied spaces in the clubhouse. Miggy and Almora become his most frequent companions, in large part because Almora’s too recent a callup to have much of the Cubs’ magic. And Jon, because Jon’s apparently decided that he and Kyle are going to be friends now. Jon watches all of Kyle’s bullpens and shows up by his side in the dugout more often than not, and Kyle’s finally starting to not have to suppress a shudder when he looks at Jon’s disturbingly green eyes. Whatever it is about the AL East and eyes, Kyle’s not a fan. Eyes aren’t supposed to glow and they’re not supposed to have pupils the same color as the iris and there’s supposed to be white around the iris. Sue him, he likes to see humanity in the eyes of the people he talks to.

But Jon’s a nice guy and Kyle notices the Sox characteristics slowly retreating. When they’re out somewhere other than a baseball field, Kyle will sometimes catch flashes of a nice brown iris, with normal, human black pupils. How it’s supposed to be. 

“Listen, you know we’re a team, right?” Jon says to him one sunny afternoon as they’re watching the Cubs hitters take BP on the field. “We’re not going to go anywhere as a team unless you start trusting us.”

“I think we’ve already started to go somewhere,” Kyle points out, because they’re 44-19 and on top of the league and have a sizable division lead.

Jon turns to look him straight in the eye, magic green flashing in the sunlight. “You think we can win a World Series like this? We’ve got to be a unit. You have to trust us, all of us. Not just Miggy and Almora and whatever other kids happen to get called up. There’s nobody on this team who doesn’t trust you and who wouldn’t do whatever they could to keep you from getting hurt. Nobody in this clubhouse wants anything but the best for you. It’s about time you start acting like you know that.”

Jon tousles his hair and wanders back down to the tunnel. And Kyle stares out at the grass of the field, wondering if he can really believe that this time.

\---

Miggy’s back starts flaring up, and with Rossy pushing forty, the team calls up a kid from Iowa to get some time behind the plate. Despite Jon’s lecture, Kyle still feels compelled to spend more time with the new kid. He’s a catcher, most likely their starting catcher for the foreseeable future, of course it makes sense that Kyle wants to get to know him. Or at least he can claim that if Jon gets on his case again. Not to mention the kid’s not bad-looking and he plays with an electric energy, from what Kyle’s seen in spring training.

The first thing that Kyle notices—that everyone notices, really—is the kid’s energy. He’s so much, all the time, no matter how hard the workout or how tired anyone else seems. He always looks like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin and he’s always quick with a smile. Kyle doesn’t think he sees the kid without a smile on his face the entire time he’s in the clubhouse when he first gets called up.

His first appearance in the majors is as a defensive replacement, and Kyle almost feels bad for him since he won’t get a chance to get his first hit in his first game, but Willson’s so excited that it doesn’t last long. Even if he’s only up with them for a little bit now, he seems determined to enjoy everything to the fullest.

Except he also seems determined to stay in Chicago, because he hits a home run in his first at bat ever. Kyle thinks he sees Willson’s eyes flash darker as he rounds the bases, and he feels his heart sink. No matter what Jon said, he doesn’t think he needs another interaction with a new kid who doesn’t know how to keep his emotions and magic in check. Besides, Willson doesn’t know Kyle, he has no reason to care about Kyle’s wellbeing. And he might end up back in the minors sooner rather than later.

Except the kid just keeps hitting, and smiling, and bouncing around, and if Kyle didn’t know better he’d think that Willson takes an immediate liking to him. It really seems like Willson is around him a lot, watching his bullpens, hanging out with Kyle in the dugout, and always eager to talk baseball on the plane or the bus or at team dinners or literally anywhere.

And as the summer stretches on, days getting hotter and the Cubs staying equally as hot, Kyle finds he’s not so worried about being around Willson. It’s hard to not trust your catcher, and Kyle’s really been trying to take Jon’s words to heart. He wants to. He wants to trust his teammates and to feel like he’s really part of the team and not an outsider, and maybe—maybe Jon’s right. Maybe it’s a matter of putting himself out there and trying to trust his teammates.

\---

Kyle elects to stay in Chicago over the All Star break, grateful for the time off after the slight skid they’ve been in recently. He doesn’t have much planned over the few free days, mostly errands and stuff he needs to fix up around the apartment and some working out, so he shoots a text in the team group chat—and wow, he really should be a little more active in this—asking if anyone still in Chicago wants to meet up for dinner or something.

Willson responds almost immediately, an enthusiastic “yes!” with nearly a dozen emojis accompanying it. Schwarbs and J-Hey and Monty all agree, and Kyle’s pleased to note his stomach only flips a little when he realizes it’ll be just him and four guys who all are pretty invested in using magic along with their baseball. But it’ll be fine, they’re his teammates after all.

\---

Kyle’s not expecting the bear hug from Willson when he arrives at the restaurant, and he’s also surprised to find himself smiling to match Willson’s infectious excitement. 

“I’m glad you wanted to do this, I missed you all,” Willson says, bouncing lightly on his heels as Kyle laughs.

“It’s only been, like, two days since we’ve seen each other.” Willson lifts one shoulder in a shrug in response to Kyle, happiness not seeming to waver in the slightest. 

“Yeah, well, you guys are the best team I’ve ever had, of course I’d miss you,” he says, so easily and like it’s the simplest thing in the world that Kyle’s throat tightens. Willson’s not even been in the majors a month yet and he’s already acting like the team’s his family, and Kyle’s in his third season with these guys now and he still can’t bring himself to trust them? Maybe he needs to learn a thing or two from Jon and Willy.

\---

Despite himself, Kyle’s grateful when the break ends and he gets to go back to doing what he knows best. Starting the first game afterwards isn’t exactly like being pegged for the Opening Day start or for the first game of the playoffs, but Kyle treats it like it is. Someday he’ll be at that point, be as good and as confident in his skills as Jon and Arrieta are. But that starts with each time he goes out there and takes the mound, and he’s going to make every start the rest of this season count, go toe to toe with his veteran, magical teammates and prove he’s equally important to the team. 

Willy’s starting behind the plate for him in that game, and even though he’s got his game face on and not the usual smile, Kyle can practically feel the warmth from his teammate even from sixty feet, six inches away. His catcher's got his back.

The Rangers are decent this season, but Kyle shuts them out over six innings and his team puts up several runs for him. Willy draws a walk and scores a run, and hugs Kyle in the dugout when Joe tells him he's done for the day.

"Thanks for the support," Kyle tells him, carefully not staring at Willson's eyes for too long. He's absorbing magic more quickly than Kyle had expected he would, and they seem more bear-like than human too often during games these days.

"It's just my job," Willy says with a shrug, going in for another quick hug before hurrying off somewhere. Kyle shakes his head fondly and heads down the tunnel to shower and get fluffed out, smiling to himself. It's a damn good season.

\---

“Coming out with us tonight, professor?” Willy asks, leaning against Kyle’s locker after the game. Kyle looks up from where he’d been massaging out a sore spot in his calf and can’t help his smile at the catcher’s excitement.

“Yeah, for sure,” Kyle says, rolling his ankle a few times before taking Willy’s proffered hand and getting to his feet.

“Your leg okay?” Willy asks, a hint of a frown cutting into his happiness.

“Just a tiny bit tight, no big deal.” Kyle swings his bag over his shoulder and pockets his phone. “Wanna carpool? I can drive you home if you want more than a few drinks, I was planning on going easy tonight.”

“Yeah, that would be great!” Willy’s enthusiasm comes flooding back immediately. He leads the way out of the locker room, chatting the entire way about the game. Kyle’s content to just listen and add a comment here or there, mostly letting the excitement of a guy still riding the high of being pretty fresh in the majors flow over him.

They make easy conversation as Kyle drives to the bar, chatting about the game and Willson’s transition to the majors. Kyle’s tired from pitching and usually isn’t the biggest fan of conversation after his starts, but it doesn’t feel like a chore with Willy.

Kyle pulls up and parks, relieved to see Jon’s car a few down in the parking lot. Hopefully he’ll have already gotten a booth for the lot of them.

“Hey!” Kyle hears Rizzo call the moment he steps inside. It’s a moment before his eyes adjust to the darkness compared to the brightly lit street, but he sees his teammates all crowded along one wall.

“Got you a club soda, if you don’t want it I’ll have it,” Kris says when Kyle slides in next to him, pushing a glass over to Kyle. He’s nursing a glass of something clear, and Kyle knows his teammate well enough by now to know that it’s not vodka.

“Perfect, thanks,” Kyle says, taking a sip as Willy pours himself a drink from one of the pitchers of beer.

Willson turns to Kyle, seeming eager to continue their conversation from the car.

“It’s been like a dream with the Cubs, you know, man?” he says excitedly. “And the magic, oh man. It’s so strong, nothing like in the minors.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kyle says awkwardly, taking a long drag of his soda. He hates it when the conversation turns to magic, when he inevitably has to defend himself for not wanting to give up his humanity.

“What?” Willy asks, taken aback. Sighing, Kyle takes another sip to gather his thoughts before he has to explain. There are magical blanks, but they’re few and far between, so nobody ever jumps to that conclusion. Well, with one exception, but Kyle would prefer not to dwell on that. Better to focus on his catcher and getting him to understand.

“I’ve never pitched with magic before and I’m not going to start now,” Kyle says, probably a bit too testily. Willy looks at him with those big dark eyes.

“Did they not do that at your fancy school?”

“They did. I didn’t.”

“But you’re so good, think about how amazing you could be if you used magic!” Willy’s adorably earnest sometimes, and Kyle knows the kid doesn’t mean anything harmful by it. Still, Kyle has absolutely zero intention of agreeing to use magic.

“Or maybe it would mess me up and I’d be terrible,” Kyle says, deliberately keeping his tone light. He doesn’t need to pick a fight over this. Especially not with his catcher, and not this season.

“If that’s what you want,” Willy says, shrugging as he takes a long drink of his beer. “Hey, you ever thought about modifying your curve grip? I feel like there’s something about the pitch that’s holding you back.”

“Not really, no, I just don’t think that pitch is ever gonna be my bread and butter,” Kyle says, relaxing again at how easily Willy drops the matter. He appreciates having his boundaries respected on the issue. 

Rossy crowds in next to Willy then, and the conversation is taken over by the more than slightly drunk catcher. Kyle smiles and wraps an arm around Willy when he leans against Kyle’s shoulder. He does love his team, magic and all.

\---

They flounder a bit through the rest of July—well, not exactly flounder, but not at the pace they've been at for most of the season—then they end the month with an insane walk off win. Down by six early, tying it in the bottom of the ninth, then walking it off thanks to a squeeze bunt. Jon Lester's squeeze bunt. Not exactly how anyone would've drawn up the game, but even Kyle could feel the magic sizzling through the air in the bottom of the ninth and the twelfth. And he's pretty sure it's not just the magic that's giving the team its confidence, making any opposing lead surmountable and every game winnable. They're the best goddamn team in baseball, and they're going to prove it. No more laughingstock, no more lovable losers. Just the high of being a damn good team and winning.

\---

The team builds off the momentum from that win, or so it seems, because they immediately go on an eleven game winning streak, and Kyle doesn't think he's ever had so much fun playing baseball. Of course, he's always loved playing the game, but this? This is beautiful and fun and the magic in the locker room feels more like the magic of being a team and having absolute trust in each other and being able to pick up each other no matter what. Kyle likes that magic a hell of a lot more than actual magic.

The win streak can't last forever, but somehow Kyle's not bitter when it comes to an end on his start. It wasn't his fault, he knows that, because seven innings and two runs is a start he'll take any day, but when the first reliever in gives up five runs in less than an inning it's just not your day. But it's not something Kyle's worried about, because they'll just win again another day. Nothing's going to keep this team down.

\---

Kyle drops his head and walks back into the dugout, letting the cheers of the crowd wash over him. That he’s getting cheers from Cubs fans, even in St. Louis, should warm him, but he’s furious at himself for losing the no-hitter so late in the game. The score and the familiar feeling of Chapman’s blend of Yankees and Cubs magic and knowing that he’ll shut down the game isn’t even enough to make him feel better.

He lets the trainers fluff him out, does the postgame interview with Len and JD, and sits silently in his locker while the rest of the team is in the shower. He’s not mad, not really. It just hurts, to have been so close only to lose it. On a changeup, no less, his knockout pitch. If he’d gotten a no-no, people wouldn’t be able to call him a fraud anymore or talk about how he needed to use magic to truly be good.

When guys start to trickle back into the locker room, Kyle makes his way to the showers at last. He brushes off the congratulations of his teammates as he goes, because there’s nothing to congratulate him for. He didn’t actually do anything special.

The spray of hot water doesn’t really clear his head, but by the time he gets out of the shower the room is empty. Or at least he’d thought so, because when he turns around after changing he’s greeted with a bone-crushing hug from Willy.

“You were so amazing tonight,” he says, and the hug feels good enough that Kyle lifts his arms—and wow, his pitching arm’s gonna be sore tomorrow—to hug him back. “You’re gonna get it next time.”

“I should’ve had him,” Kyle says instead of thank you, the disappointment starting to creep back in. He had Hazelbaker on an 0-2 count and couldn’t finish him off. 

“Next time,” Willson repeats, finally letting him go from the hug. “And even though you didn’t get a no-hitter, that was still so impressive. Everyone’s proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Kyle mutters, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to meet Willy’s earnest gaze. Maybe tomorrow he’ll manage to muster up a sense of pride in his game tonight.

Willy shifts from foot to foot, chewing on his lip for a moment before speaking again. “I know you don’t do magic, but maybe just this once? The magic’s really happy right now, it might cheer you up. I could tap into it and feed it to you if you don’t want to touch it directly.”

Willy reaches out a hand and Kyle stumbles backwards, breath hitching when his back impacts with the locker behind him. There’s nowhere to run and Willson has magic at his disposal and can grow bear claws if he desires and Kyle’s powerless to do anything to prevent all this from happening again. He knows he’s breathing too fast and too shallowly and he can hear a rushing in his ears that drowns out whatever Willson is saying, and none of this is going to help him and he needs to stop because panicking will just make it worse but he can’t stop and he can’t do anything to stop Willson.

“Please,” he hears himself gasp out, and then he’s sinking to the floor, covering his face with his hands as he waits for the touch of hands and the unwelcome flood of magic to overpower, overwhelm him until he doesn’t even know who he is anymore and can’t break free.

Except even as he flinches and tries to brace for what he knows must be coming, it...doesn’t. There are no hands gripping him tightly enough to bruise, no claws threatening to break his skin, no magic rushing through him like a tide of poison.

He dares to drop his hands from his face, to look up at his teammate, to figure out why he’s not forcing Kyle.

But Willson’s standing several feet further away than Kyle had expected, hands at his side and what looks like panic on his face. His lips are still moving and as the rushing in Kyle’s ears fades he can hear Willson saying “—not gonna hurt you man, it’s okay, it’s okay, I promise.”

He seems to register that Kyle’s back somehow, or maybe Kyle’s relief and confusion is more visible on his face than he’d usually let it be, because he stops his attempts to talk Kyle down and instead drops into a crouch, still staying a reasonable distance from Kyle.

“You okay, man?”

Kyle rubs a hand over his face, taking a few slow deep breaths to ground himself. He’s fine. This is Willy. Nothing is going to happen to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t have to be sorry, it’s on me. I know you don’t like magic, I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

“You didn’t know,” Kyle says, slowly unfolding his legs so he can sit on the edge of the stall behind him instead of on the floor. Willy looks truly wretched and guilty over this, but Kyle can’t muster up the energy to offer more reassurance.

“Can I give you a hug?” Willy asks, quietly. Kyle nods, and his catcher crosses the distance between them quickly and pulls Kyle into another hug. Leaning into the embrace and burying his face in Willy’s shoulder, Kyle feels the trembling in his muscles start to taper off as his panic fades. “I’m sorry. I won’t ever do that again,” Willy says, and maybe the faint tremors aren’t coming solely from Kyle.

“You didn’t know,” Kyle repeats. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I know you wouldn’t do anything to me.”

“Don’t say sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong. Can you—you don’t have to talk about it, unless you want to, but what was it that—that set you off? Just so I don’t do it again.” 

“Magic. And don’t—don’t reach out like that. I can’t—touching and magic and—“

“Hey, hey,” Willy soothes, rubbing gentle circles on Kyle’s back. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I won’t ever do it again, I promise. I got your back, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know—I know you wouldn’t. I know none of you guys would. I just—I don’t know why I reacted like that.”

And Kyle knows, in the little back corner of his mind that he tries never to let out, that it was just the similarity of the situation that caused his reaction. Never mind that he trusts Willy and he knows his catcher would put himself in harm’s way a million times over before harming Kyle and that he hasn’t felt the rush of magic drowning him in years. He needs to be more careful, to avoid situations like this in the future. Willy might not be rude about it, might be quick to offer reassurances and a hug, but there are other guys who would react with a growly snort and a firm shake with claw-spiked hands to get Kyle to man up.

“Maybe that’s just how you react to being threatened like that, and that’s okay,” Willy says. Kyle wants to protest, to remind Willson that he was just trying to be nice and wasn’t doing anything to threaten Kyle in the slightest, but it had certainly felt like a threat to Kyle, even if it wasn’t intended as such. Still, it’s a humiliating reaction to have in front of your teammate, and Kyle’s just grateful that the rest of the team wasn’t there. Nothing like having a breakdown over nothing in front of a group of guys you want to respect you when you’re finally proving your skillset worthy of respect. “Do you want to head back to the hotel, get some rest?”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” Kyle pushes himself to his feet, standing still for a moment until his lightheadedness fades, and when he feels alright again, Willy’s already grabbing Kyle’s bag for him. He’d protest but he’s exhausted, a bone deep weariness making him want to curl up on the floor and fall asleep immediately.

He lets Willy get him into a ride to the hotel, and up to his room. Kyle’s beyond grateful that he’s got a room to himself so he can just collapse into bed and not worry about it.

Willy gets him a glass of water and grabs out a pair of sweatpants for Kyle as well as his phone charger. He loves his catcher more than anything right now.

“If you ever want to talk about it you know where I am,” Willy says, hesitating in front of the door like he’s afraid Kyle will freak out again the second he leaves. “Or if you ever just need a hug or a reminder that not everything is shitty.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says, more than a little numb inside, but he manages to get his features to work enough to form something that looks at least somewhat like a smile.

\---

At this point in the season, there's absolutely no way they're not going to the playoffs. With a seventeen game lead—and hell, how did this team go from the bottom of the division to being on pace for almost a hundred wins and having a double digit division lead—they could honestly just take most of the rest of the season off and just relax before playoffs. Which they are doing, in some senses, with Joe letting most of the position players get more rest than usual. It doesn't change Kyle's daily life much, since he's still going to be going out there and taking the mound every five days. Jake can get annoyed about what he sees as a return of spring training lineups, Kyle just wants to go out there and do his job and win games. After all, it's not like the rest of this regular season matters that much anymore. Nobody'll remember how many regular season games they win if they do nothing in the playoffs.

Kyle hadn't realized how stressed he'd been spending his time on other teams and in previous seasons until now. Not only is the team good now and having fun and not having to worry about making a frantic push for the playoffs when everyone's starting to get tired and wear down a bit, but it's the first time he's truly trusted his teammates to the extent he does now.

And if Kyle wants to be especially honest with himself, it's in large part because of Willy. The kid's got too much energy for his own good and is starting to build up the magic to match it, but even with his temper and passion, Kyle can't be worried about anything going wrong. Willy's never going to hurt him, and neither is the rest of the team. He knows that, he truly does now. And maybe he'll still freak out sometimes and have a bit of a negative reaction when his teammates' magic jumps out like Schwarbs' had that day, but he doesn't have to just spend his time trying to convince himself that their anger and magic isn't going to be directed at him. He knows. And he's nearly certain all of them know his aversion to magic and do their best to display their characteristics of it less, although he's less certain of that fact. It seems like something they'd do. After all, they are his teammates.

\---

Kyle hears a set of footsteps come into the Pittsburgh's visitors' weight room as he does some post-start yoga after his second to last start of the regular season. He holds his pose for a few seconds longer, then folds himself into upward dog so he can talk to whoever's in the room with him. He's not exactly surprised to see that it's Willson.

"Sorry, if you're busy I can go," Willy offers, gesturing awkwardly back at the door and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Kyle shakes his head, standing up and stretching his back slightly. 

"No, you're fine. I was just finishing up anyways. What's up?"

"You were really awesome out there tonight," Willy says, awkwardness vanishing immediately, replaced by his ever-present enthusiasm. "You know your ERA's under two now?"

"It is?" Kyle asks. He knows his ERA's been pretty damn good all season, especially in the second half, but under two is impressive and not exactly what he'd expected for himself. "Huh."

"Huh? That's all you have to say about it?" Willy's eyebrows shoot up, and he shakes his head with an expression of what looks like fond exasperation on his face. "You're something else, aren't you."

"I'm just a regular guy," Kyle protests. He stretches his back again and replaces the mat he'd been using on the stack against the wall. "You heading out? I could do with about a gallon of water right now."

"I thought you Cali boys weren't supposed to be bothered by the heat," Willy teases, but he gestures for Kyle to go ahead of him back into the locker room, then trails after him back to Kyle's locker. "Were you planning on going out tonight?"

Most of the team has dispersed by now, just a few lingering relievers and September callups, because at this point in the season pretty much everyone is tired of road trips. Kyle's a little glad he doesn't have anyone beside his cat waiting for him at home, he couldn't imagine how hard it must be to leave behind a spouse and kids so often during the season.

"Nah, I kinda want to go back to the hotel and crash. I'd watch a movie with you or something if you want," he offers, stuffing his phone in his pocket without looking at it and tilting his head back as he chugs down most of the remaining water in his bottle. 

"That sounds nice, if you're not too tired."

"Wouldn't have offered if I was," Kyle says. He picks up his bag and stifles a yawn, studiously ignoring Willy's pointed look. "And if I fall asleep, so be it. I don't have a roommate this trip so it's not like it's an issue."

"Alright." It's Kyle's turn to trail after Willy across the locker room, and he drops into an empty chair nearby as Willy gathers up his stuff. Damn night games in late September. He definitely won't mind getting a break between the end of the season and the beginning of the NLDS. Getting to sleep in and stay in his own bed? Sounds like heaven right now.

Willy's at least quick in packing, so they're out of the clubhouse and at their hotel less than half an hour later. Resisting the urge to faceplant and stay in bed until late the next morning, Kyle opts for the stairs instead of the elevator up to the fifth floor where they're staying. 

"You jerk, I caught nine innings today," Willy huffs, but he doesn't sound truly annoyed, so Kyle continues up the stairs.

"You're young, you'll survive."

"I'm, what, two years younger than you?"

"Something like that. But you're a rookie and therefore you're automatically young and less achy than someone like me."

"Oh, you're such a veteran, in your third season already," Willy says sarcastically. "That's why you--nevermind."

"What?"

"Nothing," Willy says quickly, too quickly, and Kyle pauses on the landing to look at him.

“Everything okay?”

Willy nods, and Kyle’s not entirely convinced, but he lets it be. Clearly Willy doesn’t want to talk about it and Kyle’s not going to push.

“What do you wanna watch?” Kyle asks when they get into his room, dropping his bag in the corner and scooping up the remote.

Willy tosses his bag into the other side of the room, throwing himself onto the spare bed. “I’m fine with whatever. I’ve been watching the Harry Potter movies recently—oh, wait, never mind.”

“What?” Kyle asks, pausing from flipping through the channels to look over at his teammate. “Wait, do you think I don’t want to watch a movie that has magic in it?”

“I mean—” Willy flushes slightly. “I didn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine with it in movies, it’s just—I don’t—Do you want me to just tell you what happened?”

“I mean—” Willy says again, eyes going wide. “Only if you want to tell me.”

“Might as well,” Kyle says, forcing himself to shrug and offer a smile. He’s okay, at this point. He knows he can trust his teammates now, especially this kid who’s been attached to him from the start despite how standoffish Kyle was.

Kyle leans back against Willy’s headboard, wrapping his arms around his knees. Willy takes the spot next to him, reaching out for Kyle’s hand and squeezing when Kyle takes it.

“I was...a junior in high school,” Kyle mutters, gaze fixed on the bedspread. “Our summer travel team. The Shockers. I was the last one in the locker room after one of my starts. We’d lost. He cornered me and—the Shockers, the magic was a spark of electricity and when he touched me with it—it hurt. He—he said—“

“Hey, you don’t have to, you can stop,” Willy says gently, squeezing his hand again. Kyle appreciates the sentiment and uses the touch to ground himself, taking a deep breath.

“No. No, I want to. It’s probably—good to talk about it,” Kyle says, breathing deeply again and focusing on Willy’s hand clutching his. He’s fine now. “He said that if I would just use magic then I’d win, and by not using it I was hurting the team. I told him—I said no. I told him to stop. He—he shocked me again and grabbed my arms and his touch felt like electricity and he shoved the magic into me and I couldn’t—I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t—it was like I wasn’t the one in my body, it was just Tyler and the magic. Even when he left, the magic was still in my body and I was just—lying on the floor as it got dark and I couldn’t move.”

Kyle stops to catch his breath, realizing that it’s sped up as he’s been speaking. He can still feel the ghost of the magic coursing through his body, lighting every part of his body on fire. 

“Do you remember Jonathan Sanchez?” Kyle asks instead of continuing. 

“The pitcher who—died, right?” 

“Yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. His death was an—an overdose of magic, I guess, and I thought—magic wasn’t supposed to leave you in pain and paralyzed on the floor, so I thought—I’d end up like him.”

“How long—“ Willy’s voice breaks, and he uses the hand not holding Kyle’s to wipe at his eyes. Kyle hadn’t even noticed that he’d started crying. He squeezes Willy’s hand and dares to look up at his catcher, who gives him a weak smile. “How long were you just left there?”

“Couple hours, I think?” Kyle lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “An assistant coach found me after awhile and did...I dunno, something with magic. I passed out and woke up in our hotel and never asked what he did.”

“God, Kyle,” Willy breathes, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. The kid who did it—is he in the majors?”

“Yes.” Kyle feels a shudder rip through him, the phantom pain of unwanted magic.

“Who is it? I’ll kill him. Who the fuck—why—“

“Willy, it’s okay,” Kyle tries to assure him. “It’s not like I’ll ever have to share a locker room with him again.”

“He hurt you! Did he even get punished then?”

“No. I didn’t want to push the issue. I was afraid he would retaliate or that the rest of the team secretly felt the same way and would do something. I just tried to ignore it and I’ve never touched magic again. The coaches knew something had happened, of course, but since I wouldn’t say who there was nothing they could do.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” Willy murmurs, shaking his head again. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Yeah. That’d be—nice.” Kyle wraps shaking arms around Willy and buries his face in Willy’s shoulder, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

“You know none of us would ever let something like that happen to you again, right?”

“I know,” Kyle says, letting the warmth of Willy’s hug sink into his bones. “I’m not worried about any of you.”

“Anymore, you mean,” Willy says, but his tone is incredibly gentle for his teasing. “I’m glad. We’re better as a team when our best pitcher is comfortable in the clubhouse.”

“How would you know? You’ve been here like four months,” Kyle teases back. 

“I know you,” Willy says instead of teasing back, open and honest. He finally lets go of Kyle and leans back against the headboard as well, but stretches his legs out so his calf is pressed against Kyle’s. “Did you still want to watch a movie? Or just go to bed?”

“I wouldn’t mind watching something,” Kyle says. He could use a movie to relax and distract himself from thinking about the shitty old days.

“What’s that hockey movie you like? About the underdog college team?”

“Miracle?” Kyle smiles, touched that Willy would remember a movie he thinks he’s mentioned as being his favorite once while Willy was around. 

“Yeah! Want to watch that?”

“I’d love to.”

Kyle scoops up the remote from where it’d been abandoned on the bedside table, scrolling until he finds where he can rent Miracle. Nothing like a feel-good movie about a mismatched group learning to trust each other to perk him up.

\---

Kyle’s more than a little disappointed by his last start of the season, inflating his ERA back up to over two—if a 2.13 ERA could be considered inflated, and how is his ERA even that low after a full season—and forcing the offense to pick him up in order to end the season on a win. But they do get the win, one of over a hundred, holy shit, and the regular season doesn’t matter anymore. It’s playoff time.

It’s time to prove this regular season hasn’t just been a fluke, that they’re really the best team in baseball. Time to redeem themselves from their embarrassing sweep by the Mets last season and finally end Chicago’s drought once and for all. 

“You ready for this?” Kyle hears, along with a hand landing on his shoulder. Jon’s got a smile on his face and fully brown eyes and has been tabbed for the first game of the playoffs. 

“More so than last year, I hope.”

“Eh, last year was not great for any of us. You at least had the excuse of it being your first time in the postseason.”

Kyle shrugs, smiling at his teammate. “Guess it just wasn’t our year. This year, though.”

“I know you don’t do magic, but can’t you feel it? It’s our year.”

“You’d be the expert, wouldn’t you,” Kyle says. “Gonna be on time for breaking a team’s curse this time?”

“Wow, rude,” Jon says, hip bumping Kyle. “You talk a big game for a man with no ring. Tell you what, let’s wait a month and then see if you can talk.”

“In a month you’ll just up it to having more than one ring,” Kyle mutters. “I’ll have to make up for it once you retire and I’ve got an extra ten years in me.”

“An extra ten years, huh.” Jon gives him an extreme stink-eye, complete with completely brown bear eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

“We will,” Kyle says, smirking and offering a smile with a confidence he’s not sure he feels. “Just you wait.”

\---

“Holy playoff performer, man!” Jon yells, pounding Kyle on the back when he walks back into the dugout to thunderous applause from the Wrigley crowd. “Kershaw fucking who?”

“Game’s not over yet,” Kyle reminds him, but it’s hard to imagine the Dodgers coming back from down 5-0 with Chapman in. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up and enjoy it,” Jon says, giving Kyle a slight shove. “Go get cleaned up and fluffed out and get the hell back out here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle laughs, adrenaline still coursing through his veins, especially with the noise of the crowd that seemingly hasn’t faded since first pitch. He closes his eyes for a moment to just soak in the noise—the cheers for him—before heading down the tunnel to finish his postgame routine. The game’s not over, for sure, but he’s pretty damn sure they’re going to be going to the World Series. 

“You did it!” Willy jumps onto Kyle as soon as the game is over and Kyle’s run back onto the field. “You got us to the World Series!”

“You did too!” Kyle yells back, hugging his catcher. He wants to say more, to yell about Willy’s homer and how he couldn’t have pitched such a great game without Willy behind the plate for him, but they’re getting pulled apart by the crowd of players around them and Kyle’s hugged by at least two dozen other teammates. They’ve done it—he’s done it, in this game at least—and they’re going to the World Series. The Cubs are actually going to the World Series.

It’s not until they’ve celebrated and Rossy’s spoken to the crowd and shifted and roared to huge cheers from the crowd and Javy and Jon have gotten their co-MVP awards and the reporters have cleared out and they’ve thoroughly doused themselves in champagne that Kyle gets to talk to Willy again.

A lot of the team has cleared out, but Kyle sits on the floor and leans back against his locker, not ready to leave yet. When someone sits down next to him, he’s unsurprised to find that it’s Willy. 

“You look tired,” Willy says, leaning into Kyle’s shoulder. He’s not quite slurring his words, but he’s definitely had a lot of champagne tonight.

“I don’t want the night to end.” Kyle is tired, and he’s going to sleep extremely well tonight, but he wants to ride the high of this game as long as possible.

“But we’re going to the World Series!” Willy says around a yawn, and Kyle wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Just imagine how much more awesome the night’s going to be after we win that.”

“We still have to win first,” Kyle reminds him, but his stomach jumps at the thought. They’re really going to do it. He can just feel it.

“We’ll do it,” Willy says, pushing himself upright and shifting a little so he can face Kyle. “We’ve got the best pitcher in baseball, after all. Did you see yourself tonight? That was the best pitching I’ve ever seen.”

“How about you? That home run off of Kershaw was pretty damn good too.”

Willy’s smiling, and he’s sitting right in front of Kyle, and they’re the best team in baseball, and they’re going to the World Series, and Kyle’s struck by the sudden desire to kiss him.

Kyle leans in, putting a hand on Willy’s cheek and searching his eyes to see his reaction. They’re dark and wide but so, so human and trusting. And it seems like nothing at all to close the tiny distance left between them and kiss Willy.

Objectively, Kyle’s had better kisses, ones less uncoordinated and exhausted, but this is soaked with champagne and excitement and the promise of more glory and it’s with Willy. Willy cups the back of Kyle’s neck to angle his head into the kiss better.

They kiss until Kyle runs out of breath, and when he pulls back, Willy doesn’t let him get far, holding his head in place and resting their foreheads together.

“Happy going to the World Series,” Willy whispers. It’s so ridiculous but just so Willy and Kyle’s not even sure that winning the World Series could be better than this.

“Happy going to the World Series.”

\---

Somehow the Cubs push the Series to a Game 7, and somehow Kyle and Willy start that game, and somehow the Cubs manage to take the lead after blowing it in the eighth.

And Kris shoots forward and makes the throw, and Rizzo catches it even though it goes high, and they've really done it. They've really won.

The entire team is up and over the railing before Kyle even really manages to convince himself that what he’s seen is reality, but the entire team around him is screaming and celebrating and there are several fully shifted bears among them and even Kyle can feel the magic sizzling through the air around them.

Kyle finds himself next to Willy in the crowd when the celebration starts to die down a bit, and he slings an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. He’s spent the past week and a half doing nothing but baseball and kissing Willy, but he can’t resist the urge to press a subtle kiss to Willy’s cheek.

“Can you let me feel the magic?” Kyle asks, dropping his arm so he can hold Willy’s hand. He supposes he could try to tap into it himself, but he trusts Willy more, and he thinks experiencing the magic through Willy’s filter might make it more palatable.

“You’re sure?” Willy asks, squeezing his hand. Kyle squeezes back and nods, forcing himself to not clench his jaw. He can trust Willy with this.

He feels a tentative lick of magic at him and nearly stumbles backwards. It’s so…euphoric. It’s like bright fizzles in his blood, tinged with something that feels distinctly like Willy. 

The magic pushes a little further, and Kyle gets the sense that the magic is celebrating too. It feels like champagne singing through his body, like the weight of over a century of losing being released, like finding a family and accomplishing the impossible with them.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for a character having thoughts of how magic can be used violently against him, a brief scene of a panic attack, and a description of an instance where magic was used to attack a character.


End file.
